The Books of Alfádis: The Lass Queen
by banjonomad
Summary: The story of the one who many claim is Katniss' great great great grandmother. Two island lasses hailing from the Orkney Isles of Scotland are accused of a crime and must band together to escape harm. They face exile, injury, betrayal, love, loss and the task of finding a new island to call home.


**Chapter I**  
**The Shepherdess of Shetland**

Have you ever shared a bond stronger than blood? A fiercely strong kinship - a friendship that was so genuine and deep that it almost hurt to think about what might happen if that bond was to break by some terrible tragedy? Aye, that kind of heartbreak is the symphony of terror our the darkest of nightmares are formed.

If you're not interested in hearing my story, just say so. But, if you care to hear it, I will warn you: it's a tale with many dark, heart-pounding turns. A tale of friendship and how it can sustain you in the most desperate times. If you choose to hear my tale, I promise you'll be glad you did.

The day I met Maira is a memory I ponder curiously and affectionately. It was the time of the fire festival and the whole village was whispering excitedly about the coming evening merriment. I wandered out of my humble burrow in time to watch the lead fire carried through town. It didn't hold much magic or mystical charm for me like it did for most girls my age. Aye, it was just another gloomy day, though I was glad that it signaled the coming spring and summer. Temperatures in the Shetland Isles are brutally cold in winter.

During the fire festival everyone in the village puts out their candles and household fires. One lead fire would be carried on a torch through the village and each new light source would be lit from it. Then everyone would be happy and joyful and dance around the fire in a circle. This signaled a new beginning and fertile months to come.

I was always fascinated by fire - it has always held a strange power over my eyes. I kept my distance as usual and sat on a small grassy mound, staring at the dancers and the drummers and the household torches blazing anew.

Festivals usually mean a lot of dancing and joy but for me it held a certain heartache. I was an outcast. A motherless, fatherless child who often went hungry and always . I was told that I was cursed with bad luck. The village folk always whispered some story behind my back. I didn't know my own history but from what I could gather it involved a sea captain and a humble maid.

The drums kept playing me into a trance. I sat and watched happy families bouncing the children on their knees, grandmothers nurturing a little grandbabies and children running around and laughing as they gained new friendship. I longed for those things. I longed to be loved.

When I became uncomfortable to the point of tears I turned around to head back to my borough. Suddenly in the corner of my eyes I saw a figure. It was dark but the flickering fire showed it was a girl about my age. She stood with the staff and her hand and a lamb at her foot staring at the festival as I was. Alone.

She leaned her chin on the top of her staff and seemed as intrigued as I was with the fire. I wasn't used to talking to other people but I couldn't help myself from slowly walking towards her. My mind raced with possibilities - who was she? I had never seen this lass before. Before I knew it I was a stones throw away and she saw me two.

My heart began to pound. I didn't realize how bad I was starting up a conversation. Usually I was the one spoken to. People telling me to get out of their way of stop asking for food.

"What do ye want?" The shepherd lass asked me. She didn't seem happy so I took a step back.

"Nothin'."

"Well, ye didn't walk all this way for nothin'. Don't be a wee gawker." She snapped.

"I just...came to see if you were new in the village. I don't remember seeing you before." I asked timidly.

The stranger rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. It seemed she had heard the observation far too often.

"If ye must know, I'm Maira. I keep watch over my uncle's sheep on the north side of the island."

Slowly, her gaze fixed onto the dancers and their flaming torches. A villager passed by and I saw her face more clearly. Freckled and unwashed. Her hair betrayed her Scottish heritage and was wild an red. She stood a full head taller than me, but seemed about my age - no more than fifteen. Her eyes were grey and seemed to be softening a bit as the silence went on.

"I see. My name is Lorna. Mostly recognized as the village orphan beggar." I nearly whispered. The admission seemed to snap Maira out of her trance. Her eyes fixed on mine and she seemed to study me skeptically, trying to discern if I was mocking her or being truthful. My solemn face proved my statement and she became less defensive.

"Oh, bimbleweaves! Where in the dune's valleys did that wee lamb go?" Maira yelled out. She spun around in a panic. The animal was gone. Maira's eyes lit up with fear and she began frantically motioning to me with her staff to help find the creature.

We were without a torch, but the full moon and numerous torch-baring villagers provided enough light for us to easily spot a bit of white wool running around. I felt this high-stakes game of hide and seek would be a simple one to win.

"Bartley! Where are ye, wee devil?" Maira whisper-yelled. She seemed afraid someone might hear she had lost the lamb. Exasperated she said, "Hurry up, spy down to the other end of the village, whoever you are!"

"Lorna." I said, almost scolding her for being so rude to me. Though I had no obligation to help her, I felt pity on her predicament. If I wanted to have a shot at having my first real friend, I would have to forgive her rough mannerisms and lend a hand. Or, in this case, a pair of eyes.

Maira swiftly ran behind the baker's stonehouse. I ran directly across to the wool maker's stonehouse, scanning the piles of yarn wheels and wool for any sign of a curious little lamb. Nothing. I ran behind the dark structure and, to my surprise, saw the little lamb named Bartley, eating the wool maker's evening bread which he had left to cool on the back table.

I slowly approached Bartley and scooped him up just as he took a large bite of the loaf - nearly finishing it off. Knowing the owner of the bread had a hot temper, I panicked and ran quickly through the street, lamb in my arms, to find Maira.

As I reached the middle of the road, I noticed three torch carrying villages heading right toward me. They were going home for the night and I was caught in their light. They knew me well and were aware that I owned no sheep. They assumed I had stolen the lamb and began to hasten towards me. I froze. Scared of what they may do to me.

"What are ya doing with that wee lamb, lass? You're a no-good thief!" scowled a village fisherman.

"He's not mine, but I haven't stolen him."

Before I could explain myself, I was surrounded. I held Bartley tight as he swallowed his last bit of bread.

"We've put up with your begin' long enough, lass. You will return the lamb to it's owner." the wool maker was among the three men.

"And you are herby forbidden from the village. We will not put up with beggar-thieves in this village." the fisherman seemed eager to get rid of me. Legend said that any individual who committed a crime on the night of the fire festival would ensure the offender was cursed for the rest of their days.

My heart sank. I was speechless and horrified, surrounded by angry villagers and were closing in on me with their torches and angry faces. Suddenly I felt something hard hook around my arm and jerk me out of the middle of the mob. Before my eyes could decipher what was happening, I heard a voice that said, "Run! Run!" so I did just that. Bartley wanted down and began bleating, but I could think of nothing but running.

After stumbling barefoot up the nearest hill, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw that Maira was leading the way. She had hooked me with her staff and led me out of the mob. She kept running, and I just followed - navigating between the green hills and towards the north end of the island - looking over our shoulders often. No one was following us.

After a long, breathless and painful sprint, we slowed to a walk, panting and weak from the scare. I stooped down to let Bartley walk on his own. Maira stopped to stroke him and check him for injuries.

"I found Bartley." I stated the obvious, trying to lighten the mood.

"Aye." she nodded. "Bartley, you're a wee devil."

We caught our breath for a moment and I suddenly realized I had never traveled to this part of the island. It was still and beautiful. The full moonlight showcased the peaceful, treeless, green rolling hills. I saw a small herd of grazing sheep in the distance and figured they belonged to Maira's uncle. I abruptly realized I had no where to go and hoped my strange new friend would prove hospitable. Frightened at the prospect of being rejected help, I simply followed her lead in silence.

The moon lit our path nicely as we slowly and cautiously trekked over each hill. Bartley seemed to know the way and kept trotting ahead of his fearless shepherdess. Her comfortable handling of the tall staff made me feel safest staying in her shadow even though I knew the danger was far behind us.

Feeling weak from a day without food, my legs finally began to give out on the biggest hill we had attempted. The last thing I wanted to do was become a nuisance to this easily-annoyed girl. I was at her mercy. Half way up the monster hill my legs began to feel numb. The moon was suddenly hidden by a large group of clouds - I lost site of the past and stumbled on an large stone buried in the hillside. Maira had easily outpaced me and almost didn't hear me heaving in pain. The sharps edge of the rock had caught and pierced the top of my foot and as I fell, it ripped away the flesh. I felt a quick warm wetness gush over the top of my foot. I was bleeding. Badly. Traveling rocky hills with bare feet is a wee bit troublesome.

"By the trow's beard! What happened, lass?" Maira yelled out as she ran down the hill towards me for a closer look. She knelt down and squinted her eyes to survey the damage.

The stabbing and throbbing I felt made me gasp for air. I repeatedly tried to explain myself, but couldn't speak two words together.

"Oh, shush." she said, obviously focusing on a solution. No comforting words, just a way to fix the problem. She slipped a dagger out from her girdle and for a moment I flinched, not knowing what she planned to do. Her skilled hands quickly cut a long section from her underskirt and wrapped it tightly around my throbbing wound. The pressure somehow lessened the pain I felt.

"We need to make ye a pair of peasant ghillies so this doesn't happen again. Aye?"

"Aye." I breathed out. I was shivering and my eyes felt like they couldn't be more wide open even if I tried. Bartley settled down by my side; he seemed to know I needed the warmth.

As I worked to get back on my feet, Maira grabbed my arm to steady me. "Take the staff." Surprised by her suddenly compassionate tone, I stared at her almost skeptically. "Are ye havering?"

"No. Take it." she insisted, holding it out.

The wood fit comfortably in my hand. It was strong and tall and seemed as though it could defend anyone from the dangers of the world - as if it had taken on the temperament of its owner. I must have expected it to be weighty, but was surprised at how light and easy it was to maneuver. How could a piece of wood be so comforting? Quickly I came to realize what a beloved possession it must be for Maira to own.

"We don't have far to go. Beyond this hill is my uncle's farmland." Maira whispered. It seemed she was not fond of the idea of seeing her uncle after the mishaps of the night. "We'll rest with the animals tonight - Uncle Angus will be none too please if we wake when he's drunk."

"I'm knackered. Let's get some rest and we'll decide how to talk to Angus about ye tomorrow." Maira yawned.

The shelter for the animals was fashioned out of sod and stone. It was short and sturdy. Compared to my former hole in the ground, it was luxurious and inviting. We ducked through the short doorway and Maira quickly lit a candle. There were several expectant ewes resting along the right side of the shelter and a few young lambs snuggled up to their mother's on the other. The shepherdess motioned me to follow her toward the back wall. The candlelight revealed a few woolen blankets and a mound of hay. The soft bleating of the sheep was soothing and peaceful. I felt as if I was in the safest and coziest place in the world.

"Is this where ya bed down every night?" I asked.

"Well, it's not a bonnie palace, but it suits me just fine." Maira quipped.

"It's perfectly cozy. A far cry from what I'm used to - for the better." As I spoke, she began gathering hay and a spare blanket for me. Glad to get off my throbbing foot, I knelt down on the soft sodden floor and helped. "Thank you."

"Aye." the wild-haired lass nodded. She avoided eye contact and seemed uncomfortable and unused to gratitude. She set the candle on a stone in the wall that jutted out like a shelf and settled into her bed, intentionally facing away from me. I sat down on my very own pile of spongy hay and examined my foot in the limited light. The blood had soaked the bandage but the wound had finally clotted. I was afraid to remove the bandage for fear of undoing the progress, so I simply sat and stared at my swollen, red, throbbing toes.

"We'll get some salt from Angus' pantry in the morning and soak yer foot. I've had many a nasty gash while chasing the sheep - salt keeps away the infection. Get some sleep. Ye must rise early." and with that, she blew out the candle. I slowly rested my head on the soft hay and focused on breathing in healing air and thinking about the new hope that was possible with this strange new situation. I dared to hope that this friendship would grow to bare the fruit of loyalty and trust.

During my lonely nights in the village I used to dream of two things: food and companionship. It seemed as if at least one of those dreams might finally be within reach. I hoped that the adversity that occurred within the first few hours after meeting was serving the purpose of building a base with which to build something lasting. A very flawed person, I desperately hoped that I had made only an average impression.

It seemed only a few moments after I had drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep that I felt Maira shaking my arm, "Pssst. Time to get up. Get up. We need to get yer foot bound and stitched and the sheep out to pasture before Angus wakes for breakfast. He's a grumpy fellow after a long night of drinking he is."

I jumped to my feet instinctively, not fully conscious. The shooting pain struck not only my foot but my entire leg and I quickly sat down breathing rapidly, my eyes wide open. I felt the gash open anew and saw blood leaking out of the woolen wrapping.

So focused on the pain, I had hardly noticed that Maira had already gathered new dressings and had a few small bowls of strong-smelling ointments and was threading a needle with a wiry-looking string.

"This is gonna hurt, but it's the best thing we can do for now." she said, squinting her eyes. Concentrating.

Her long, skilled fingers had already begun undressing the foot. It looked much worse than I thought and I gasped at the ghastly sight. A large, triangular shape of flesh had been lost to that ruthless boulder. The entire foot was swollen and red and throbbing. My toes were like sausages. I couldn't bare to stare, so I closed my eyes tightly and turned away.

I clenched my fists in preparation for whatever Maira was planning to do to the gaping wound. I could only open my eyes for quick seconds to peak at her preparations. I flinched and groaned in pain when a stinging pain engulfed my swollen appendage.

"This ointment will keep infection at bay. It won't sting for long." she said as she took the threaded needle between her fingers. "Ya will need something to stifle yer screams. Put this rag between yer teeth and bite down when ya want to yell out. Aye?"

"Aye." My voice was cracking. I began to shake in anticipation of the pain. I stuffed the rag into my mouth - it tasted like a damp wool and, though it was repulsive, was a welcome distraction. Clenching my fists and tightly closing my eyes, I nodded for her to begin the stitching.

Breathing deeply as I could through my nose, I braced for the uncertain pain the stitching would bring. It felt as if all the nerves in my body has sunk to my foot and made every small sensation unbearable. Every beat of my heart made it throb and swell. My face lost all color as Maira's hands sowed the first stitch, pulling my skin and piercing my already overwhelmed nerves. Slowly breathing turned to panting and I nearly lost consciousness as she tried calmly to complete each stitch quickly and firmly.

Pulling. Piercing. Pulling. Piercing.

"Be still. Be still. Be still." she whispered over and over and her words fell on me as if they were an enchantment. My vision began to blur and everything went dark. Visions of darkness and vague figures danced before my eyes. Then, relief rushed over my body like a heavy blanket of dark silence.

Hours must have passed as I lay on the musty, wet floor of the barn. Suddenly the deep, peaceful rest left my body and violent shivers shook my head and torso. Loud groans echoed through my ears. I worked hard to open my eyes and focus my vision in the dim firelight. I only wanted that loud noise to stop so the sleep could return. Squinting, I slowly turned my head to the right, toward the noise. My heart skipped a beat.

Maira's face was just inches in front of mine. Her eyes wide open as she whispered so desperately and loudly that she spat in my face. She was desperately grabbing my arm and shaking me to consciousness.

"Get up, Lorna. For Odin's sake, open yer eyes, lass!" Maira panted.

"Wha…what? Aye…please…I need...rest..." I begged. Looking away from her face, I tried tuning out her voice. The draw toward unconscious was overwhelming. It was then that I noticed a large, groaning figure lying on the ground behind the shepherdess. Blinking to clear my eyes, the fogginess cleared and the site of a man laying face down on the barn floor jolted me to a hyper-conscious state. My mind began to absorb Maira's words and the weight of the circumstances.

As I blinked to clear my vision, I noticed the man was bulky and had a reddish hair, similar to Maira's. He looked greasy and the odor emanating from him matched his dirty look. His speech was hard to decipher and he was losing consciousness.A large pic-like tool was sticking up through the right side of his chest. I had never seen anyone die, but he seemed as close to death as a human can get.

Having slept through whatever had occurred, my imagination ran wild. My thoughts turned to a dark place. Had Maira killed this man in cold blood? Was the mystique and sober nature of Maira's personality the mellow side of a serial murderer? Was I next? Terrified by the thought, adrenaline shocked me to a state of extreme fright. I directed my wide-open eyes toward her face and immediately noticed the entire left side of it was extremely swollen. This put me at ease because it seemed as if she had been involved in some sort of scuffle with him.

Straining to pull my head off the floor, there was just enough strength in my arms to push my torso to a sitting position. I felt a little more at ease when I saw that her eyes were as wide as mine and her body was trembling. She seemed as frightened as I was. I now felt sure she had done nothing wrong.

"Hurry. We have to leave now. Before anyone knows. Before anyone finds out." Maira whispered directly into my ear as she seized my arm and shoved the staff into my other hand she began pulling me along so quickly that I felt as if I was flying behind her.

The sudden adrenaline I was feeling dulled the pain in my foot enough so I could focus on keeping up with her. We stopped abruptly outside the barn door as Maira ran back in, stuffing her satchel with a few supplies. She emerged back out, wiping what seemed to be tears from her eyes, grabbed my arm firmly and fled down the hillside.

I don't know how long we kept up the dangerously quick pace but it seemed like hours. All I could see was hills upon hills and I felt my mind begin to wander to a delusionary state. Visions. Blurry memories I thought I had long forgotten appeared over the backdrop of the green, faintly moonlit hills. A kindly old woman called out to me and sang a soft song I remembered from my infancy. A bearded, rugged sailor's weathered and strong reached out for me crying, "I never wanted to leave you, wee bairn. You'll always be my lass." I felt both comfort and confusion at these strangely familiar visions.

The man and woman slowly faded as I once again felt my feet stumbling and running beneath my body. A hellish pain swallowed my foot as it stumbled upon a stone in the darkness. I slowly felt myself giving way once again to unconsciousness. "Hey, stay with me! "Maira's firm grip became even tighter and she slipped her arm under mine and around my back. This time, almost carrying me along. She was much taller than me and it was difficult for her to keep this posture. She hobbled and huffed while struggling to keep up the pace.

The timing for the clouds to let loose the rain could not have been more miserable. We were two hills away from our coastline destination and growing slower with each step. Our feet sliding on the thick, greasy mud and our knees becoming more bloody and bruised with each misstep. The cold rain and the howling wind smothered us as we gasped for air.

Finally, Maira fell to her knees and I slumped down behind her. My cheek was became melded with the mud and I became overwhelmed with the urge to give up. My back began to shiver with each raindrop and gust of wind. Lightning struck more frequently every few minutes and the thunder jolted our weak frames with each clap. The wind screaming in our ears made it difficult to communicate, Maira yelled in my ear, "Just two more hills. Push on."

"My will for survival overtook my exhausted body. We both stood and grab each other our steps were in the sink this time. Slow. Deliberate. Our heads fell as far as we could bend them. The rain blew sideways and seeing became impossible. Once you reach the top of the first till we set down and try to slide as far as we could dumb the muddy grassy terrain. Surprisingly, it worked. The deadweight of our tired bodies slowly slips down the hill and into the valley. We felt a tinge of hope as we finally saw small cottage on the shoreline. We were almost there.

Electric bolts occasionally lighting our path and keeping us on course was a godsend. When suddenly, we felt a horror we had not felt up to that moment. Complete darkness surrounded us as we walked toward the cottage we had seen just moments before. A beautiful haven. We knew, once we reached it, all would be well.

Then, the next bolt of light shattered any sense of hope we were holding onto. A long jagged line of light filled the sky for several moments as we squinted ahead to straighten our course. A horrific figure stood near the doorway. It was like the most terrifyingly large wolf you can imagine was standing on its hind legs. The Wulver. A creature we had only heard of and, until now, reckoned he was simply a fairytale; A silly creature village parents had made up to keep their children from running off into the hills at night.

It was more terrifying than any description we had heard. Somehow he seems to have a brilliant soul and was fully aware of the situation. He stood on his hind legs, dark patches of thick fur covering its body. Its torso breathing heavily. Jagged, yellow teeth sticking out from its lips. Eyes that glowed in the night and seemed nearly red. Paws as large as that of a brown bear.

He seems nearly twice the size as the already towering Maira. We frozen in our tracks, shivering uncontrollably. Completely silent. As a darkness fell again we were too terrified to continue walking toward the cottage but also unsure of where to go. We simply waited, breathless. Weak. Waiting for the next stroke of light to guide us to a new haven.

This time the black night fell so heavily on us that we nearly gave up hope for survival. When light finally struck again, I desperately clutched onto Maira's arm and my eyes darted left and right. The Wulver was no where to be seen.

Just as the last second of light faded, we spotted him on the distant shore. This time he was on all fours. Suddenly it looked deliberately back at us. This time its gaze seemed almost gentle, if that was possible, as if he was conceding the cottage to us. The two, large red eyes seemed compassionate and understanding. I felt weak, dumbfounded and too shocked to move. With no other choice but to find shelter before we both collapsed, we continued plodding toward our salvation.

One more long stroke of lightening gave us enough relief from the blinding darkness to feel our way to the worn out, shack-like shelter. I could feel Maira hold her arms out straight in front of us as I clutched onto her waste, struggling to continue. She was feeling for the stone walls of the shanty.

We inched closer, our steps slowing out of caution. I hoped with each breath that we would reach the door. It seemed we should have been to it already. Just as I felt my knees buckle and hope escape my body like a ghost, Maira grabbed my arm and pulled me inside the dark, dry refuge.

To be continued:

**Chapter II**  
**The Wulver**


End file.
